wolves and girls
by golden ichor of the gods
Summary: cold-war au: young russian natalia romanova discovers a secret after many years of war. one potentially able to tear both her country and her heart to shreds. natasha-centric. multiship.


A/N: This is an AU set in Soviet Russia. It is Natasha-Centric, but contains multiple ships. There will be extremely dark themes in this book, so read with caution, please!

Malen'kiye prizraki. In English, little ghosts. It was the name commonly used to describe the two orphans who occupied the large orphanage, always slipping between the cracks like shadows to steal extra food, or to listen in on important conversations. Often, they were only caught due to the boy's lack of hearing, since he heard not any footsteps approaching.

The boy arrived an American, abandoned by his traveling parents, who could hear not a word. Not a single instructor knew sign language, and most simply regarded him as being dumb, pulling his hair and making him cry out when they thought he was purposefully being daft. The girl arrived a Russian who was a victim of a bombing. The rubble nearly crushed her, but she was rescued, alive and...different. She carried the weight of knowing she was different in her heart daily, and only shared this knowledge with the boy.

Crammed inside a small drawer-type apparatus laid the boy and girl, eavesdropping on Viveka Slovaka conversing with the cook. "We may need to put down the little creature." She murmured in smooth Russian, a deep sigh escaping her lips. "She's thin, never eats her supper. Pale like snow. And her hair is so red. She will never find a home. Too ugly." Her words were so cruel, yet her voice remained silky and smooth. "With poison, yes?" The cook asked. In the shadows, the boy rolled over and began to sign to her, asking, "Why don't you eat?" With a shrug, she offered only "It doesn't taste." as an answer. The boy frowns.

"They're wrong. You're beautiful." He forms, and she hisses a be quiet at him, but a small grin turns up the corners of her lips anyways.

Winter is a constant for them, and so they endure long hours of menial tasks and lessons in school during the freezing temperatures, no matter how much they shake and shiver. As it grew colder, they retreated further into their own little corner of the universe, burrowing themselves close together besides a makeshift fire and reading tales of old Russia side by side. Sometimes, they may even imagine a future where they would build themselves a house with constant fires and warm sun, maybe out in the country of Spain, where it was never winter. These fantasies never bore fruit, however.

Dark clouds clotted the skies the day the Madame and her two guards arrived. Both children were sitting atop the snow-covered roof of the orphanage, though they were not allowed up there, making silly snow angels, when it seemed to grow...colder. As if an evil presence was ascending upon them. Little did they know that this was not simply their active imaginations, but the harsh reality of the situation.

It was half an hour before they were called to stand before a room filled only with the Madame and Viveka. "Natalia Alianova Romanova. Clint Barton. You are to perform a series of physical tasks. They will be demanding." The girl quickly signed this out, and the boy nodded, signing back to her a question. "Why must we do this?" She said aloud, voice clear and rather demanding of an answer. The Madame's red lips curled upwards into a haughty smirk.

"If you pass, malyutka, you will go to a very special school. One where you will have all the luxuries you cannot afford here." Even young Natalia saw through this lie, but she only nodded, signing to Clint quickly. He frowned, and then Madame asked, "Is the boy without hearing?" Viveka sighed. "Yes." Madame pursed her lips, then gestured to the door. "Get prepared."

The girl and boy shared a look, hands knitting together, and in their eyes shone a fire like no other. This was the fire of a man on the front lines of war, firing down the enemy with every last bit of determination in his soul. This was the fire of woman mercilessly defending her child from an onslaught of attackers. This, this was the fires that Russia could not birth to them. They had managed to warm their resolve, melt the ice coating the souls of every young Russian.

They would win this fight.


End file.
